


A: Alcohol

by brokxnharry



Series: Teen Wolf A-Z Challenge (with songs) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M, Sad Stiles Stilinski, a bit of sterek, mentions of mama stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 08:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11551104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Sheriff Stilinski is doing okay, most days, you can't even tell he struggles with alcohol and loss and grief and just a load of pent up emotions. But sometimes, he breaks, and it all comes pouring right out of him, crashing onto Stiles.





	A: Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Anchor - Novo Amor

He was staring down at the shirt in hand, marveling upon how the threads of it seemed to be clinging together, so put together, so.. whole. There was a single thread protruding by the hole meant for his arm, like it'd forgotten how to connect with the fabric, like it no longer belonged. And Stiles wondered, if he pulled at it hard enough, if he willed it further away from what kept it together, if the shirt would just come undone. Almost like he was.

It was dark and quiet, except for his father's distant mumblings, his cries to the night that didn't care for him like Stiles did, didn't want to listen to how much he missed his wife or how his son was breaking his heart or how he was losing the job that gave him meaning, gave him something to wake up for every morning, when everything else was suffocating the life right out of him. The night wouldn't care for any of that, but Stiles did. God, did he. He pulled at that lonely thread because if he was going to fall apart then dammit at least it wouldn't be only him.

" Stiles, I need you to-" A voice faded into the air that was thick with misery, with defeat. Stiles looked up, away from the shirt that was more in one-piece that he'd felt in years. He was on his knees, on the floor of his bedroom, shirtless, looking up at Derek, who was standing by his open window, eyebrows furrowed in something other than his regular irritation.

Stiles cleared his throat, voice lost somewhere within him, as he tried to stand himself up, falling back onto his bed when his body couldn't quite make it through the stand.

" What did you need?" He asked, trying to smile, but the muscles of his face wanted so desperately to crumble into a cry.

" Uh, research about that omega we heard about earlier. It- it doesn't matter, you smell.. off."

" Yeah, well. You're going to have to find someone else to do it for you tonight. I'm.. out of business."

He was so numb, so disconnected from everything around him, that he didn't see Derek's grimace, as he took in the scent of vomit and alcohol and something else he couldn't quite name. He didn't feel Derek's arm on his shoulder, trying to take any physical pain he had, but there was barely anything. It was the kind of pain werewolves couldn't take away. He didn't even notice Derek sitting beside him on the bed, too close for it to be anything other than caring, other than worrying.

" Did you throw up? Are you sick?" Stiles winced, shaking his head, that was soon buried into his hands, trying not to see the world crumbling around him.

" That's not my smell. I'm fine."

" What do you mean? I smell it on you."

" That's probably because I had to shove my finger down my dad's throat to get him to throw up all the alcohol he'd consumed so that I wouldn't have to take him to the hospital for alcohol poisoning."

Derek could hear it now; the sheriff's unstable heartbeat, his voice that was lower now, as he slowly lost consciousness. He could smell the desperation, the self-loathing, the helplessness, and he wondered if the house had ever smelled like home to them. He wondered how they could breathe around all that, when he was having trouble not putting a hand over his mouth and nose and every opening that could allow that scent in.

" Stiles," Derek went to get closer, to hold Stiles somehow, or hold onto him, but Stiles sat up, wiping at his face now, trying to keep himself together, to not just wither away.

" He threw up on my shirt. I had to come up here to change. I should probably go back down there, be with him."

" He's falling asleep. I think he's going to be okay." Stiles smiled then, although it was more bitter than anything, because okay was a concept that he could no longer fathom, that he wasn't sure he believed in anymore.

" Yeah, until the next time I have to lie to his face about something or the other, or I fuck up his work, or just, do something stupid and then he'd start thinking about what my m- mum would have done and how she'd left him with this… this burden, that he can't get rid of, that he can't bear anymore. And then he'd feel like he's losing her all over again and try to drink that away too. Try to drink the thought of **_me_** , away."

Tears were falling onto the shirt he still clung to, darkening the color of it, like what happened to his heart, when he'd first realized that he'd never see his mother again, that his father would always have to be this miserable, this lonely. He sniffled, wiping his nose on his arm. He would have laughed at how disgusting he was, if he wasn't feeling like he was cracked wide open, emitting horrible things out into the world that didn't need any more of it.

" I don't think he's trying to drink you away. I think he's just.. really, really fucking sad, Stiles. He lost his wife, the woman he thought he'd spend the rest of his life with. I don't necessarily know how that feels, but, I know how you feel. My mum was the strongest woman I've ever known, and when we're young, we never think of the possibility of losing them before we no longer need them. So. When it happens, it's somewhat the worst fucking thing possible. You don't think you can make it through the pain. You think the sadness is going to kill you. But, it didn't, Stiles. Your dad is still here, and so are you. That counts for a lot. That matters. And if you feel like this whole werewolf thing is driving you away from him, then forget all about it. I won't bother you with any of it again, and I'll make sure no one else does. And you can just, go back to him. To your life."

Stiles choked on a sob or a laugh or something, he wasn't quite sure, as he shook his head because of course Derek would be willing to put his life and all the others' lives in danger just to spare Stiles. To spare anyone from the pain he had to live with, that he still carried, every single day.

" God, I love you, Derek." Stiles' eyes widened, breath hitching because fuck. Fuck, he'd just said that. And what was scarier was that he'd actually meant it. He felt the misery that had solidified inside him, melting away, crashing into what highly resembled love, and creating something he couldn't quite understand.

" I mean. Like. Like I love Scott. You know. Friend. Someone of importance. Like. An acquaintance. But, closer. Kind of like a,"

" Be very careful of what you're going to say next, Stiles, because if it's pet, just don't say it."

Stiles looked up at Derek now, whose shock was slowly morphing into acceptance, into understanding. Derek had his arms crossed against his chest, and if it was because he felt his heart was beating right through his chest, then no one really needed to know.

A genuine laugh made its way past Stiles, and it caught him by surprise, how good it felt. How easy it was, to laugh with the person who'd made his life miserable for so long, who most of the time, acted like he hated Stiles for merely existing. And now, Derek was smiling as if making Stiles laugh was his life purpose, like he didn't want anything more from the world.

" I'm going to take a shower. You can," Stiles wanted to tell him to stay. To just stick around because Stiles could breathe better with him there, could feel the crushing weight on his shoulders, lifting, if only a little.

" I'm going to get your laptop and get started on that research." Derek nodded, all firm and reassuring, and if he heard Stiles' relieved exhale, he didn't call him out for it.

Stiles turned, tried to walk away, tried to go into the bathroom and not make a bigger fool of himself, but he was still reeling with emotions, with the need to make it better somehow, to bring his mother back from the dead and just bury himself instead, because if someone had to go, if the universe needed to take someone, then it could be him. He was drunk on heartbreak and loss that would always feel too fresh to move on from, too impactful to survive.

His legs were wobbly and his figure was trembling with something he couldn't grasp, as he crashed against Derek and held onto him. A heart was beating unhealthily fast. A chest was imploding with feelings of love and despair and regret. Or maybe they were two. Arms were clinging, sinking, and Stiles remembered his dad holding onto him at the graveyards while Derek thought of his mother holding him and the body of his very first love like that would somehow pour life into either of them. To each their own, really, but Derek didn't know if his fingers were still fingers or if they were claws. And Stiles didn't know if he'd stopped shaking or if Derek was now shaking too, making him feel more steady. More collected. Like he wasn't collapsing onto himself. Onto Derek.

" Thank you, Derek." Stiles whispered against Derek's shoulder, into his neck, and if he wasn't trembling so fiercely, he would have noticed how Derek shivered, before holding onto him a bit tighter.

" Anything for you, Stiles." It almost sounded like his " _I love you too_ ".  It mostly felt like it was.

Stiles soon detached himself away from Derek, smiling with something that looked like gratitude, before disappearing into the bathroom. Derek didn't open his laptop, instead, he walked down the stairs, collecting bottles, cleaning away traces of vomit, wiping at every surface that carried the smell of the sheriff's relapse.

He found a blanket and put it over the sheriff's sleeping figure, fixing the way his head rested, listening in, to make sure he was breathing okay. He watched how his chest rose and fell, how his arms were haphazardly thrown away from him, like he didn't want to hold onto anything, wanted to somehow disconnect even from his own body. He followed the wrinkles on his forehead and how they sometimes intensified, whenever he showed signs of distress, or discomfort. Derek wondered what he was dreaming of. If it was somehow worse than his life, or if was so much better, he wished he didn't have to go back to reality.

Derek didn't know why, but he put his fingers through the sheriff's hair, just resting them there, in a silent consolation. He felt for the man. He wished he could spare him, could spare Stiles. He wished he could tell them that it would be okay, that it got better, and the hole in their chest wouldn't completely eat them up, but Derek knew better than to give either of them empty promises.

So he stood there, thinking of his own father, if how different his life would have turned out if he had been around. If any of them had been around. Until he heard the bathroom door opening, and he climbed up the stairs, back into Stiles' room, and although the sheriff's heart was irrevocably broken, although he'd lost his wife and with her a good chunk of himself, he still had Stiles, and Derek couldn't help but think that it was better than what most people got.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think please :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A: Alcohol (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739407) by [AiJamaisFacil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AiJamaisFacil/pseuds/AiJamaisFacil)




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